by Emma Wildes
Sighing, she loosened her hair and sank low to rinse it. She had slept well into the afternoon if the long shadows falling in blocks across the rich carpeting were any indication, but still felt a little lethargic. Hoping to see Ahmed upon her awakening, she had been disappointed to hear he was out and couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't on the trail of the men who had attacked their group yesterday. Most certainly, when he had burst through the door at the palace, he had looked furious and capable of violence.
Shivering, remembering the man he had killed in the garden, she sank down a little deeper in her bath, reaching for the soap. The guards from the day before would live in her nightmares as well, gunned down so callously right in front of her eyes.
A small sound made her glance up, the soft, sweet-smelling soap in her hand. The cool porcelain tub where she sat was up on a dais in the corner of her bedroom, partially shielded by a screen. The long windows onto the courtyard were closed both for privacy and against the heat of the beating afternoon sun, but as she turned her head and glanced over, one of them now stood slightly ajar, the curtain billowing lightly in a small breeze.
Goosebumps rose instantly all over her body, a flash of warning shooting deep in her stomach. Reaching for her towel, she called out, “Halide!"
"If you summon the old woman, English bitch, I will also kill her."
The male voice was unfamiliar and the accent unwieldy, but that did not matter. She knew instantly that her husband's brother was the one who spoke, even before he stepped out and into better view, his face dark and his eyes burning. At close range, he was bigger than Ahmed, perhaps not as tall, but heavy in the shoulders with thick brawny arms, and a neck like a bull's. In features, she could see a faint resemblance, but in expression, Omar had none of Ahmed's keen intelligence or teasing humor. Instead, his face was twisted with hatred and contempt. Slowly, he let his gaze drift over her half-submerged body, the towel clutched to her breasts as she stared back in unconcealed alarm. “Get out,” she said as coolly as possible, “or I will scream for the guards."
"I have never had a woman so pale and foreign.” Omar took a step forward, a dark inhuman smile glittering on his face. “And while I enjoy his wife, my foolish brother will be hunting for me by the harbor, trying to prevent my escape. He does not understand my thirst for his pain and humiliation ... but when he returns to find you well-used and dead, he will finally know—"
"The true depths of your black, condemned soul?"
Water sloshed as Sarah jumped convulsively, her frantic gaze seeking the tall figure who had stepped inside the room. Ahmed looked as serene as his brother did insane, unless one saw the glittering fury in his dark eyes. He carried the same wicked looking knife she had seen before, and his knuckles looked white where he grasped the carved handle. “Perhaps,” he said quietly, “I am not so foolish after all for I have been expecting you, brother."
Omar's face went livid, and he whipped out his weapon, holding it forward menacingly, his eyes narrowing. His next words were uttered so low and fiercely that she couldn't catch a single syllable, but as she watched as a horrified audience, the two men began to circle slowly in a macabre dance of stalk and retreat, right in the middle of her bedroom. Not wanting to distract her husband, Sarah simply sat there and watched helplessly, realizing within moments that Ahmed obviously was only too aware of Omar's superior weight advantage. He was careful to stay out of reach of his brother's swinging knife, feinting in to slice quickly and retreat, rewarded when a thin line of red appeared across his opponent's muscular forearm.
Ahmed said something tauntingly, which she interpreted as ‘first blood', and Omar made a low furious sound in his throat, charging forward. A second slicing arc and agile retreat and Omar now also bled from one shoulder, his tunic ripped open, his face suffused with black fury. Charging forward again, he deflected another blow and stabbed viciously, narrowly missing Ahmed's torso, sending both of them spiraling across the carpeting, locked together and struggling. When her husband slid free and jumped out of reach, Sarah let out a small frantic sob of relief.
However, Omar was too canny to give up the advantage, following swiftly, his knife snaking out. Ahmed stopped, waited a fraction, and then turned as gracefully as a dancer, suddenly darting in rather than retreating. There was a sickening cry as the two men crashed together and Omar staggered back, tripping over the dais where the tub sat, sprawling across the steps, landing close enough that she could reach out a hand and touch him. All Sarah could see was a great gush of blood coming from his neck as he lay at her feet and she scrambled swiftly out of the bath which had felt so comforting just minutes before, heedless of her dripping nudity.
Barely breathing hard, Ahmed took the towel she still clutched to her chest and wrapped it around her trembling body, though his mouth looked pinched white. “I am sorry,” he said politely, “that your bath was ruined, beautiful Sarah."
Shaking, she stared up at his starkly handsome face. “You knew he would come."
"I guessed he would come. Or rather, Fahir seemed convinced of it.” Her husband's gaze was fastened on his brother's body, a small river of dark red liquid dribbling down the marble steps to the floor below from the gash in his throat. Ahmed looked not triumphant, but saddened. He said softly, “He needed killing, but I regret the act, nonetheless."
Reaching up, she cupped his cheek in one damp palm. “You are like no one I have ever met. Both warrior and poet, my Lord."
His attention shifted a fraction and their eyes met. “And you are like no one I have ever met, so beautiful and so brave."
Shivering, she shook her head. “Not so brave. When I heard your voice, I almost fainted with relief."
"I will always protect you, Sarah, for I ... I value you highly."
Since she knew he was reluctant to tell her his true feelings, and this was hardly the time to press him, she simply smiled tremulously up at her husband. “I also,” she said softly, “value you, Ahmed."
* * * *
The lamps flickered, but even the shifting reddish glow did not give color to the features of the man lying in the bed. He looked both pallid and drawn, but a hint of the usual combative smile touched his mouth, and he shifted a little, stifling a wince of pain. “I told you this day would come. If your father forgives you, my royal cousin, you should also forgive yourself."
Turning on his heel from his pacing across the room, Ahmed gave Hamet a wry glance. “Please, now you sound like Fahir. I admit as soon as I knew he had been struck the fatal blow, I felt a surge of regret. Not for what was ... but perhaps for what never was, if that makes sense. We were of the same blood, but enemies all our lives. It is a regrettable thing."
"Not of your making,” Hamet said forcefully for someone so obviously weak. “I watched you try everything, from staying out of his path to polite overtures. You need to face he was flawed in some way. Omar was never quite natural. What would you have, that he had succeeded and harmed Sarah?"
"Of course not.” Whirling, Ahmed glowered at the wounded man. “Don't be a fool. I killed him to protect her."
"You killed him, because he forced you to do it. It is that simple. Do not blame yourself, or worse, her, for what happened."
Shoving his fingers through his hair, Ahmed stared. “I do not blame her. How ridiculous."
"Then why are you not with her? It grows late."
That point was true ... and Ahmed wasn't sure why, though blaming his lovely wife for what happened was not the problem. Reluctantly, he said, “I killed him in front of her. It might have been necessary, but he died practically at her feet. I do not wish her to shrink away from my touch, thinking my hands are further stained with blood. She is refined, and her country is not like ours. Already I think she views me at the least as uncivilized. At the worst, perhaps she has had enough of barbaric attacks and imprisonment against her will and wishes to leave here. I am not sure I would blame her."
"She is in love with you.” Hamet shook his head, his pal
e face set. “I never thought to hear myself say such a thing so disloyal to my beliefs, but ... she truly feels so deeply for you, my lucky cousin, that when she speaks of you, her face glows and reflects the fire in her heart. Passion exists, yes, but so does something even I can see, though I haven't experienced it myself."
Could it be true? He wanted to believe it, but was afraid to be wrong. Ahmed said slowly, “I want her to be happy. Perhaps she would be more content if I let her return to England."
"If you want to make her happy, go and join her.” Hamet closed his eyes, resting back against the pillows on the bed. “Make love to her and tell her how you truly feel, in words she understands. I will see you in the morning."
A little amused at being so dismissed, Ahmed stood for a moment. The he said, “Good night, my friend."
"I doubt,” his cousin muttered, shifting a little and grimacing, “it will be as good as yours, though I hope to be well enough for that activity soon."
Giving a low laugh, Ahmed said, “That ambition shows a certain improvement. Rest well."
However, when he left his cousin's room and walked to his quarters, he felt a slight trepidation as he hesitated at the door. Chiding himself for being a coward, he opened the door and went in.
"I have been waiting for you, my Lord.” Standing by the window, Sarah turned, breathtaking in a flowing white nightdress, her slender shoulders bare and her long, golden curls shimmering. Lowering her lashes over her dark blue eyes, she added with a small smile, “I find I can no longer sleep except in your arms."
His doubts temporarily banished, Ahmed felt his body tighten predictably at both the sight of his stunning wife and her suggestive tone. “Is that what you wish to do,” he asked softly walking toward her. “Sleep?"
Sarah laughed. “Eventually."
He grinned, relieved she did not shrink from him when he reached for her. “I can accommodate any wish you have, beautiful Sarah. Ask and it is yours.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he lightly kissed her graceful fingers.
Her smiled was teasingly demure. “I suppose it is forward of me to say so, but I would like to feel your ... well, you, inside me, my Lord. If the idea does not displease you."
"I think I can endure it.” With one swift movement, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, disrobing her in seconds, easing the lacy garment up her gleaming lithe body and over her head. Tossing it aside, he did not conceal the raw hunger in his gaze as he deliberately raked her up and down, examining her bare breasts and thighs as he removed his own clothing. He was already fully erect, hard, pulsing with need, and when he joined her, she rubbed against his rigid shaft with one smooth thigh like a lazy cat, arching beneath him as they kissed.
His impetuous wife was not interested in foreplay, Ahmed discovered quickly, amazed at how wet and ready she was as his hand slid between her legs. Her sex was soft as velvet and deliciously warm, and she sighed in his ear as he touched her, restless hands rubbing the small of his back. It was magical, this physical bliss, he told himself as he positioned his throbbing penis and sank deep inside his wife.
And this time, as he moved in hot, bold thrusts, he whispered in English in her ear, “Sarah, you are my light and my life. I am enslaved and captivated more each day. Know that I love you with my body, my heart, and my mind."
Her fingertips grazed his cheek and she smiled, her face flushed with pleasure, her body fluid in the acceptance of the rhythm of love. To his surprise, she whispered back in his native tongue, “And I love you, Ahmed."
His heart soaring along with his body, he waited until she peaked in orgasmic fulfillment before he let his own rapturous release take him to heaven, holding there for long soul-shattering moments before he floated back to earth. Both of them damp and breathless, he refused to relinquish their intimate position but rested between her legs. Looking into her eyes, he said huskily, “I cannot believe my good fortune. Stay here with me then, wife, and grow old at my side."
Framed by her lustrous hair, her face wore an expression of dazzling happiness, but she playfully arched a brow. “Is that a royal command?"
He kissed the tip of her nose, the soft swell of her cheek, then found her mouth for a lingering and tender possession. When he lifted his lips a scant inch from hers, he said, “Absolutely."
Epilogue
Picking up the piece of vellum, Hamet squinted at it and chortled. “You have just written, ‘I will have another chicken, please'."
Snatching back the paper, Sarah said loftily, “Perhaps I want another chicken. I am terribly hungry these days."
"So I have heard, Your Highness. My cousin says he is worried you will deplete the nation's coffers simply by your insatiable appetite."
There was a little too much truth to that, for it seemed like she ate constantly, but Halide had soothingly told her it was perfectly normal in her condition. “Pregnant ladies must eat for two."
"I will keep in mind to wait to marry until I have sufficient coin to feed my wife like one would a small army.” Hamet, looking perfectly normal four months after being wounded so severely, showed no outward signs of what had happened except for a stiffness of movement in his shoulder, which the doctors predicted to be permanent. Still laboring as her tutor, he was determined, now that she could speak it relatively well, to teach her the written language of her husband's country.
And though they squabbled constantly and disagreed often, Sarah had grown to love him like a brother. Eyeing him speculatively, noting his muscled body and good-looking face, she said smoothly, “I have noticed the daughter of the French Consul is very beautiful. What is more, cousin, I have noticed you noticing."
His scowl was instant. “I will wed only a woman of my race. European women are nothing but trouble."
"I will second that,” a voice, well-beloved and familiar interrupted from behind them. “Independent, stubborn, and prone to being arrested in strange countries, as well."
Leaping to her feet and whirling around, Sarah gave a glad cry. “William!"
Her brother smiled, looking infinitely English in a frock coat, fitted breeches, and Hessian boots. His blond hair gleamed in the bright sunshine, and he grinned, opening his arms. “My ship docked this morning. Ahmed wrote and invited me to come for a month or two. In fact, he made it difficult for me to refuse. Are you surprised?"
"Wonderfully so.” She ran to her beloved older sibling, her slippers padding across the tiled courtyard, flinging herself into his embrace.
William hugged her tightly and soundly kissed the top of her head before he stiffened slightly and gently disengaged her clinging arms. Looking down at her, he said dryly, “There seems to be a bit more to you, my sweet sister, than there was when I saw you last."
Blushing, for there was no mistaking her ripening state, Sarah said primly, “I am a married lady. Such things do happen. Ahmed and I are very pleased."
"And apparently wasted no time.” Her brother lifted a brow sardonically. “Though I cannot say I am surprised. Aunt Gillian told me that no matter how it came about, it was a love match."
Delighted to see him and touched by her husband's thoughtfulness, Sarah linked her arm through his and murmured, “Gillian, as you know, is never wrong."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Emma Wildes is the author of thirteen novels and numerous erotic short stories. She loves to write, read, and cook, in that order. Living in rural Indiana, she delights in those rainy days, sultry days, snowy days, sunny days ... all are good for sitting down in front of the computer. Please visit her at www.emmawildes.com, and if you like regular romance or mystery, www.katherinesmith.net.
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